


indulge a passing whim

by gabriphales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Body Image, Body Worship, Insecurity, M/M, Mirror Sex, Praise Kink, just a whole fucken lot of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29417448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley's fretting over his appearance after a bit of weight gain. aziraphale won't let him forget how lovely he is
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 27





	indulge a passing whim

**Author's Note:**

> this is a vday gift for my bf i literally am so tired as of writing this ive been sick for like five days and i hate !! every single word i write lmao but love conquers insecurity and writers block so <3

“i mean, it's not that i think that, well, gaining weight is necessarily a _bad_ thing - we’ve both lived through more than enough centuries to see the tides of bodily aesthetics shift back and forth. and i love the way you look - more than anything, than _anything_ else, angel. you’re exquisite to me, beyond mortal beauty. it's just that - just that i - “

crowley hesitates, knees to his chest where he sits on the hardwood floor, leaning against the readily available chaise, rather than on it. the wine bottle clutched between his fingers, held like he's trying very hard to decide whether or not a lecture on stains in antique carpets is worth enduring, is mostly responsible for his leisured state. that, and how vulnerable he’s allowing himself to be. his legs draped across the floor, one over the other. there's nothing in his stature to suggest a hint of fear, only exhaustion beyond the point of caring. 

“i’ve just always been so _lean._ ’m scared someone's gonna comment on it, or you’ll - y’know, look at me differently.” crowley pouts, finding himself suddenly deeply concerned with the ornate patterns detailing the rug at his feet. he traces his fingers over a few red and gold swivels, losing sense of direction, and having to start over again nearly every time he hits a bump or curve.

“oh - goodness no,” aziraphale gathers his words in a slip-sloppy fashion, finding the weight of his tongue an inordinately tall ladder to climb. he shakes his head, as if that might alleviate its warm frequency, the buzzing heat that clouds every clear corner of his mind. setting his own glass aside, he repeats himself, “no, no-no, why, my _darling._ you come here right this moment, no fussing, here - sit in my lap, that's right.”

and crowley listens to him. his legs spread over the bank of aziraphale’s thighs, arms stretched around his neck. he coos hopelessly, jutting his lower lip out in an eager search for more - _’please, praise me, tell me i’m worth it.’_ aziraphale does just so, his hands just the right weight against crowley’s back, pinning him in perfectly so.

“you're simply _stunning,_ my dear, why - good _heavens,_ look at you.” his mouth finds crowley’s jaw, pressing a pillowy softness to sensitive skin. “all i ever want to do is to touch you, and hold you, _crowley.”_

there's a snap of fingers, and hands at crowley's hips, encouraging him to turn around. he twists back, and he's met with a brass-lined mirror, freshly minted, and obviously newborn. aziraphale’s fingers sink into the indent of his waist, and he spins crowley until they're back to chest, the distinctive _click_ of a belt buckle barely reaching crowley’s blurred senses. his jeans are tight, they stick to his thighs, and scrape down his skin as aziraphale tugs them off. flesh jiggles, and crowley can't help flushing hot with shame, turning away from his reflection. he can feel aziraphale pulling at the hem of his shirt, palms fondling over his stomach, and fingers starting to _squeeze._ he can't imagine what he must look like right now, bulging out in all the wrong places. but aziraphale is touching him, aziraphale wants him - he _knows_ he's wanted.

“you're breathtaking, my beauty. i can’t bear letting go of you, you're too precious a treasure - what if someone wanted to take you from me?” aziraphale dips between his thighs, fingers slipping into a slick, puffy slit, already red from arousal. 

“oh, and just look at how _cute_ you get when i touch you here,” he stops at crowley's clit, circling the swollen head blossoming from its hood. crowley’s breath gets shaky, stuck on short winded inhales he can't quite devour. every pass over his clit has him shuddering, his legs jolting inwards, until aziraphale doubles down on his efforts, rubbing fiercely, and crowley can’t help clamping around him.

“hush now, keep them open for me.” aziraphale instructs, parting crowley’s legs once more. “look at yourself in the mirror, won’t you, dearest? it’d make me so happy, so _proud_ of you - oh, that's a good boy.”

crowley faces the view with dwindling shame, aziraphale’s free hand groping at his chest, fingers plying the soft, malleable tissue. he isn't as flat there as he used to be, but with the way aziraphale covets him, his eyes gleaming as he traces circles over his entrance, crowley can't bring himself to care. 

“inside,” he pleads. “i want you.”

aziraphale hums quietly, the first press eased by crowley’s arousal, muscles eagerly inviting him in. crowley ruts down into it, red-faced and dizzy, encouraging more, “angel, _please,_ \- need you.” 

aziraphale doesn't waste another second. there's no point in dragging crowley out beyond his limits, after all. especially when he's in such a poor state. he curves his fingers deeper, stretching crowley open, still thumbing at his overworked clit. crowley watches him all the while, locked onto the sight of aziraphale working his fingers in and out, maintaining a lazy, careless pace. he _does_ look beautiful, the fat of his thighs quivering with each little shiver. and aziraphale won't stop kissing his straining throat, warm and wanton, sucking on the vein that leads up the length of his neck. 

“i love you,” crowley finally breaks, his feet kicking, hands squeezing the air as his orgasm crests. he’d find it in himself to be at least a little _embarrassed_ at how quickly it arrived, were he any less ruined. as he is, he's left to whimper out niceties, purring like a pampered kitten as aziraphale pets along his shoulder, his stomach - “love you, love you, angel, _fuck.”_

“are you any better now, my little love?” aziraphale fawns over him, something crowley isn't afraid to encourage. he wiggles his hips, nodding, and sinking into the angel’s chest.

“call me more sweet things,” he insists. “please.” (always best to be polite.)

“dearheart,” aziraphale plants little seedlings of kisses across crowley’s cheeks. “beloved,” his voice drops to a wispy murmur, meant only for crowley to hear. “all mine to cherish, and to keep.”

“you ought to keep me well, then.” crowley snickers, patting his palm over the back of aziraphale’s hand until he gives in, and laces their fingers interlocked. 

“of course,” aziraphale leans back, taking crowley with him, and lulling the demon to a content, drowsy-haze state. “as if you’d ever want to leave.”

and crowley’s breath comes heavy against him, slowing to the hybernistic creep of exhausted, half-asleep, half-awake bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the second random animal fact ive included in my end notes but hamsters look fucked as hell when theyre yawning. go look up vids of it rn they become an eldritch being


End file.
